


the stone inside you hasn’t hit bottom yet

by scorpiod



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Being Fragile and Fleshy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time Kiss, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Melancholy, Memory Loss, Mild Homophobic Language, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, post it chapter one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/pseuds/scorpiod
Summary: Bill's gone to college and Georgie's feeling lonely. Post IT Chapter One AU.
Relationships: Georgie Denbrough/Eddie Kaspbrak
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Robot Rainbow 2020





	the stone inside you hasn’t hit bottom yet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hearthouses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthouses/gifts).



> 1\. This fic is pretty tame but I tagged underage because Georgie is fourteen. My math may be entirely off about that, but that's the age I'm going with for this fic. If there's anything else I need to tag, feel free to let me know!
> 
> 2\. Title taken from the Richard Siken poem, _Seaside Improvisation_ , and it totally counts for Robot Rainbow because stone was one of the colors!
> 
> 3\. All the thanks to D for beta'ing this <3

In the clubhouse, Georgie snuggles up to him, leaning against his shoulder on the bean bag chair they're sharing, the side of his body with no arm allowing him to get as close as possible. Eddie likes it when he does that, clinging all close like a barnacle, and pulls him in even closer, resting their heads together. Eddie sits with his knees pulled up, leaning a comic book against his knees so Georgie can see better, waiting for him to tell him to turn the page. 

(Richie left the comic behind in the clubhouse. It was an accident but Eddie likes to think it was a parting gift. Something to remember him by)

Georgie is perhaps a little too old for this. Too old to be read to like this, even if Eddie isn't reading it out loud. It's probably even weirder that it's not Bill doing it but Eddie. This should be something Bill does, something Bill used to do, but Bill is gone and Eddie is the last loser left. 

Eddie is a piss poor big brother substitute. 

( _Are you going to college too? Georgie asked him, after Bill left._

_Eddie had titled his head down. He couldn’t meet Georgie’s eyes._

_My mom—-my mom doesn't want me too._

That was that.)

Eddie is eighteen and he feels both too old and too young to be here in this place that everyone else has outgrown by now. That there's something wrong with him, that his only friend is a fourteen year old kid. That maybe he didn't grow up right with everyone else. 

“Do you want to read another one?” Eddie asks when they finish with the comic, turning to face Georgie, foreheads leaning against each other. “I think Richie left some horror comics here but—”

He was going to say, _I don't know if Bill will approve,_ but the words fly out of his head when Georgie closes the distance between them and plants a kiss on him. 

It's a chaste kiss. Georgie tastes of cherries and sugar sweetness and something _fresh_ , like rippling water, like spring flowers. Eddie wonders if it’s toothpaste. He thinks that’s nice, that Georgie is at least clean and brushing his teeth before going around kissing boys. 

Eddie likes it, even as his stomach churns, like he's doing something wrong ( _what would Bill say what would Bill say but Bill isn't here Bill left us both)._

Eddie sighs softly, blowing air onto Georgie’s lips. Georgie makes a whimpering noise when Eddie pulls away. He places a hand on Georgie’s bad shoulder and gently pushes back. 

“You can't do that,” he tells him. His voice is a little breathless. Eddie’s hand twitches for his inhaler. He goes to wipe his lips but Georgie frowns at him and his face is so soft and open that Eddie can't bring himself to wipe the taste of Georgie off him.

“Why not? I’m not fragile,” Georgie says, forehead creasing in a frown. Eddie avoids looking at his bad shoulder. “You know that.”

_You know that better than anyone._

“I didn't say you were,” Eddie says slowly, treading carefully. One wrong word will fuck it all up. Georgie will never trust him again. 

The thought of losing Georgie, losing these read alongs, showing him the quarry, milkshakes at Derry diner, strangely makes his insides ache, like he's been punched.

( _It's bad enough everyone else is gone)_

“I'm not a baby,” Georgie protests. His jaw forms a stubborn hard line. For a moment, he looks like Bill, in the jaw, in the fierce eyes, and the deja vu hits Eddie so hard he wants to cry. 

“You're fourteen,” Eddie says. It's just a statement. A fact. 

Fourteen feels awfully young, doesn’t it? 

“So what? You didn't like it?” And this hurts Eddie the most, because what is he supposed to say to that? _No. I didn’t. Stop kissing me._

“You're too young,” Eddie protests. _I don't think of you that way._

Instead he gets up and starts putting the comic book away, in their little stash box in the clubhouse, where the losers left behind all their items for safekeeping. 

Georgie watches him with assessing eyes, something cool and calm behind those baby blues. 

“I hear rumors about you,” Georgie says, slowly, watching Eddie carefully all the while. 

Eddie’s heart bounces up to somewhere between his ribs and his throat, choking him. 

“About you...about Richie,” Georgie goes on, biting his lip. His cheeks are pinker than normal, a flush crawling from his face to the skin of his neck, down to his chest. “There's graffiti at school.”

A sea of thoughts rush through Eddie’s head. Panic grows in his chest and guts. He doesn't know why Georgie is causing this reaction; he's a sweet kid, key word there being _kid_ , so why does Eddie feel like his skin is being pulled back off him?

(Thinking of Richie hurts; thinking of them all hurts, the way they left, crying, promising to call, to write, and then never to be heard again; by the time it happened with Richie, Eddie knew not to hold it against him. By the time it happened with Bill, it hurt all the same.)

“What the fuck?” He gasps out, ragged, like it hurts. 

Normally swears make Georgie grin, enjoying the thrill of saying a naughty word, of being an adult, but right now all he does is cringe. 

“Stuff...” Georgie starts, then swallows. “I don't want to repeat it.”

“You don't want to repeat it but you think that's a good reason to kiss me?”

Eddie turns away from Georgie, can’t look at him for a moment, trying to keep calm. He wants his inhaler. His chest hurts. He thinks of _Richie Tozier sucks flamer cock,_ and _Eddie is a sissy queer momma’s boy_ , and all the stuff that's been thrown at them all.

When he turns back, Georgie’s eyes are wide wide wide, wet and hurt. “I'm sorry,” he says. “I just thought...you could like me like that?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I'm taking you home.”

  
  


*

  
  


Bev left first, gone after the summer. She came and left their lives like a hurricane and Eddie still misses her with a bone deep ache, thinking, _if I could love a girl, I’d love Bev._

Ben, soon after, a summer later. He went to his fabled architect camp, and before he could come back, Arlene Hanscom packed away and left.

Eddie thought Stan would stay longer, but he left for early college admission, eager to get away from his father, and Eddie can’t begrudge him that.

Richie—-Eddie still can’t talk about Richie. Bill left then, and it felt like a break in something, the world cracking open when he left. Bill went to college and left Georgie behind, both of them crying even as Bill got on the bus. Eddie didn’t think that would ever happen, Bill terrified of losing Georgie ever since the clown—-but it does. People grow up and move on (except him).

The last person to leave was Mike. He almost didn’t, determined to stay, but Eddie begged him to go. See the world. Go to Florida. _Don’t drown in this town, Mikey._

“You should come with me,” Mike said, before he left, after Eddie loaded his last bag in his truck. His eyes were wide, and pleading, and he reached for Eddie’s hand, taking his palm in his warm one. By now, they both knew—-maybe not understand the why, but they knew leaving Derry takes your memories. That you can’t leave without leaving some crucial part of yourself behind. 

Eddie thought about doing it. Not even packing a bag, not packing his inhaler, just getting in the truck with Mike and _gone._

He could taste the freedom, like salty sea air, and clear forest springs. He wonders what the air outside of Derry is like, if it’s more breathable, if his lungs would clear up. 

“I can’t,” Eddie said, “someone has to stay.” He left before Mike got back in the truck, before he broke and cracked and jumped in the back of the truck. 

Eddie went home, to his quiet, messy house, and his quiet, clean room. His mother called him for supper. The day Mike left, she was pleased. She knew better than to say why in front of him, but Eddie knew. 

_You’re just my little Eddie-bear again, aren’t you? Just you and me._

Georgie called him later that night, asking Eddie to come over, that he didn’t want to be alone, that he missed his brother and missed it when Bill had all his friends over to play video games. 

_Please stay the night,_ he asked and _okay,_ Eddie said.

_Okay._

  
  


*

  
  


The walk home is awkward. 

Georgie sulks the whole time, like Eddie had kicked his puppy. Eddie wants to tell him to learn to take rejection better, but he thinks that’s mean and he can’t blame Georgie for feeling sulky. 

“Don't be mad at me,” Georgie says, when Eddie drops him off at the doorstep. It’s half a demand, and half a plea. 

“I'm not mad at you,” Eddie says, guilt worming away at him. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“Come inside then?” Georgie asks. 

(a while ago, Eddie asked if he wanted to be called George; _you’re not a little kid anymore, you know._

Georgie shrugged. _I like Georgie. It feels familiar._

Eddie couldn’t say he didn’t understand. He prefers _Eddie_ over Ed, or Edward. Those other names felt wrong, and Eddie fit him like a warm sweater)

Eddie should tell him no. _I’ll see you tomorrow, Georgie._

“Fine,” he agrees, stepping inside Bill’s house (Georgie’s house? Bill doesn’t live here anymore; the thought eats at him, making his stomach clench around that thought). Georgie beams at him as Eddie walks in his door, eyes lighting up. As he goes up the stairs, Sharon waves and gives him an off-hand _hello,_ but otherwise says nothing, his presence in Bill’s home commonplace, even with Bill gone. 

The last thing Eddie actually wants to do is go home. 

Georgie’s room is a mess. On his bed is a textbook for freshman algebra, sprawled open, spine cracked. His sheets are unmade, blanket askew, laundry on the floor. Eddie frowns. 

“You gotta pick this stuff up,” he says, and voice choking, “this looks like Richie’s room.” The only thing missing was the weed smell. 

Georgie laughs, lighting up as he lays down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Eddie can’t help but smile back. 

“Hey,” Eddie starts, taking a deep breath. Words are hard. “I’m not—-this isn’t—-I’m—-”

“You sound like Bill,” Georgie giggles, sitting up. 

Eddie shivers. He’s not sure how he feels about that. 

“You should move in,” Georgie tells him, cutting him off.

Eddie blinks. “What.” 

“I know your mom isn’t nice,” he says, biting his lip, “and you can’t always handle her. You can stay in Bill’s room.” 

The thought of staying in Bill’s room was almost too much for Eddie to handle, all the memories suffocating him, even if having his own home away from home again, what he lost when the losers all left, was appealing. The thought of replacing Bill and kissing his little brother in his own room makes him shake his head. 

“I can’t do that,” Eddie says.  
  
“This isn’t about me kissing you,” Georgie adds quickly. Then he frowns, lowering his eyes, hair falling into his face like a barrier, or a shield. “But I still would like to kiss you.” 

Eddie lets out a breath, collecting himself. “I didn’t know you were...like that.”

“Like what?” Georgie stands up, walks over to him. Eddie resists the urge to back away, to let Georgie corner him, but this means he is stuck staring right at him. Georgie is his height now, and their eyes meet easily. He’ll get taller than him some day, grow past him. Georgie is growing his hair out, and his eyes are the same shade of blue as Bill’s. But he’s not Bill—-missing a limb, and desperately lonely. 

_Like me. Like Richie._

“I didn’t know you liked boys,” Eddie manages to push out. His breathing is getting heavy. “I didn’t know you liked _me._ ”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Georgie pushes, a stubborn tilt to his jaw, to the curve of his pink lips, to the hard set of his eyes. 

“I’m too old for you,” Eddie starts, growing increasingly a bit frantic thinking about it all. “I’ve known you since you were a baby. I watched you grow up.” 

Georgie cocks his head to the side, his arm twitching. “We both got our arms fucked with by an evil clown,” he says. It startles Eddie, hard as a slap, drawing a gasp from him. Eddie didn’t expect to hear him say that, of all things.

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” Eddie says softly. IT had grown dim in all their heads after, but the longer Eddie stays in Derry, the harder he is to shake. “None of us wanted you to remember that.” 

Georgie ignores him. Or ignores his words. He reaches out and takes Eddie’s hand into his own, running his fingertips over his palm. “It was this arm, right? I remember your cast. You wrote _lover_ on it.” A pause. “I thought that was really cool.” 

Eddie sucks in a breath. He blinks away rapid tears, trying to avoid thinking of that summer, and all of his friends. His palm throbs where Georgie touches it and he realizes he’s rubbing his fingers over the blood oath scar. 

“Bill’s gonna kill me,” Eddie pleads. “You know that’s why I can’t kiss you, right?”

Georgie, eyes narrowed down, bluntly states, “Bill doesn't remember you.”

 _Ouch_. 

Eddie pulls his hand away to wipe his burning eyes, brushing away wetness. Instead of crying, he asks, “does he remember you?”

When Georgie’s face goes blank, empty, Eddie regrets asking. “I didn't mean—-”

“He remembers when I call,” Georgie interrupts. His words come out stifled, stilted, like crawling their way out of gravel and tar. “But I have to call. He won't call. Or write. Even though he promised. And he's forgetting...things. The losers. The clown. Derry. He doesn’t remember enough to call me until I remind him.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says and he can’t stop himself from crying now. 

“I feel like,” Georgie goes on, voice wet. “I could just disappear. Like maybe the clown did get me that day and I'm not even here. Not really.”

Eddie shudders, grabs Georgie by his arm and pulls him closer to him. Close enough to kiss, if he wanted to. 

“You're here,” he tells him. Then, stronger, feeling bolder. “I'm here.”

Georgie’s eyes are shining, blue eyes bright and striking. He nods. “Okay,” he says and leans up and presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s lips. 

Eddie sighs, melts into it for once. He wraps his arms around the smaller boy and pulls him in close, breathing in his hair. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [words too small for hope (the tell me you’re not miserable remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533705) by [darlingargents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/pseuds/darlingargents)




End file.
